


Stars in the Lake

by NikoNotHere



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Drug Abuse, Leather Kink, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28817025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikoNotHere/pseuds/NikoNotHere
Summary: There are two different people. They both do their work well, sometimes for fun, but mostly for money. Though they're decent jobs, the two can't seem to escape a lingering feeling of disquiet and stirring.They need a change.
Relationships: Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	Stars in the Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I mistook stars reflected in a pond at night for those in the sky.”  
> ― Andrzej Sapkowski, Czas pogardy

He always felt a bit clumsy and awkward, but even more so with men smaller than him as his audience. For some reason, they were always the ones who asked for him. 

Tonight was no different. Till had been requested twice so far; both times had been tiny twinks of men-- not at all Till's type. Granted, he didn't work to find a boyfriend. He couldn't attract the right kinds anyway, not with being the stereotypical-looking leather daddy or bear type.

With friendly smiles and suggestive nods toward clients, Till neared the end of his shift. He was especially tired when he made his way off the stage for a break, though he was almost always tired these days. He wasn't a young man anymore, he thought with a grimace as he washed up. He might not be the prettiest or most flexible or extravagant dancer, but he was probably the cleanest (morally and arguably physically as well), and he took great pride in that. It was never explicit, but Till knew prostitution and drug deals occured with some frequency at the club; he just chose not to look too closely into it. Plausible deniability was a wonderful tool.

Till sighed as he tried to scrub stray glitter from his body. He *hated* glitter, but in strip clubs it was inevitable that it went everywhere, even if he himself never used glitter. The other dancers were very showy, both with their personalities and actual physical sparkles. They were much more popular than he was, but that was just fine. Though Till only had a few regulars that he recognized each time they returned, they were enough for him and his little side stage.

He just wished his clients weren't quite so irritating some days. They *loved* to talk his ear off, and never really had anything interesting to say. They'd compliment his body and the leather harness and hat he wore as he danced (which he frequently referred to as lumbering rather than dancing), but that was as deep as the interactions ever were. Till functioned as a sort of stand-in therapist for those young men, listening and nodding to everything they said for as long as they chose to pay him. These interactions had cemented Till as the resident "dad" of the club.

After a long, critical look in his mirror, Till released a heavy breath. He rubbed some polish across his harness, the only thing he liked to look somewhat shiny, as he took exceptional care of it. It was a handsome piece of hefty black equipment, with gleaming silver buckles scattered across it. It framed his chest exceptionally well, which had been hard to do as Till first searched for a harness. His pecs were shaped differently from most other men's, a result of his barrel-shaped, elongated torso. Though a difficult task, he'd finally found the perfect fit-- the front cross-strap was slung much lower than on most harnesses and ended up being infinitely more comfortable for him. 

Till ensured he looked clean and presentable, then readjusted his hat a final time. He had a very easy schedule, all things considered. Mondays through Wednesdays were his days off, which he relished-- though truth be told, some Wednesdays he could be seen loitering at the bar of this strip club, either watching one of the muted televisions off to the side or talking to the bartender or one of the regulars as he drank some heavily discounted beer. Though he appreciated his alone time, it was too easy to get lonely these days.

Thursdays he worked a few hours, normally very relaxed and laid back. He would have a few regulars but nothing stressful. Fridays through Sundays, though, were always borderline madness. The hours were long and chaotic the entire time, though Till still found the work outrageously easy. The beginning of his busy weekend shifts started with a group act on the main stage, one of only two Till appeared in. Then he retreated to his small side stage, and there he stayed for nearly 8 hours straight, depending on the night. Groups, single men, sometimes full on bachelor parties were his responsibility to entertain-- though parties were rare for him. It was almost always younger men, boys really, who loved to fawn and talk and throw their parent's money at him. 

There were a few exceptions to his normally disinteresting clientele. A lesbian named Alicia whom he very much liked would come in every other Thursday to sit at his stage and chat with him about all things leather. Generally speaking, this particular strip club was for men only, but the new owner had made an exception as his friend. She'd singled Till out from the get-go and forced him to open up to her over time. It was impossible not to, as she had an infectiously bellowing laugh that Till had both a fun and easy time eliciting. 

Apart from Alicia, Till had almost daily chats with a very tall, thin man named Flake. Flake always showed up during Till's next to last set of the night and drank at the bar, then gave whatever was left of what he'd been drinking to Till as he walked up on break after that set. The two always had lovely conversations. They were similar in age and had both grown up in the DDR, so there was no lack of topics the two could fondly reminisce or grouchily bitch about. Flake would then follow Till back to his stage for his last set of the night. He would watch for almost exactly 4 minutes (Till had actually timed it once), tip him well, then leave. 

Though Till found the rumpled-hat-wearing, bespectacled man to be perfectly pleasant, the bartender despised Flake for some reason. He was never rude, but when the place closed for the day, Till had plenty of earfuls of how the bartender really felt about some of their patrons.

He needed to get to the bottom of the dislike of Flake eventually, Till thought to himself as he gave a final look in the mirror. He blinked a few times at his reflection-- it was the only pre-show routine he had, really. Today was the one day Flake came in a bit later, usually during his last set instead of his break beforehand, so he didn't have the quick drink before going back up that he normally did. 

Ah well, he could get something after his shift, Till thought assuredly as he climbed up on his little stage. It was Sunday, so the crowd had thinned more than the previous two evenings before close. This suited Till just fine. The only ones left at his stage were a pair of not exactly interested young men. Till tried to keep his amused chuckles to himself as he danced above the pair, trying not to stare as they very nearly had sex with each other right in the chairs beneath him. After a few more minutes of listening to the two become louder than the club's music, Till finally caught the eye of their bouncer and nodded down at the two guys. He had established a long time ago that even though he was built like a bouncer, Till refused to act like one, in any situation. He left the muscling to the professionals.

The bouncer came over and gave the pair a stern warning, judging by how close he got to them as he did so, and the two quickly decided they wanted to go elsewhere. Till didn't care either way, as they hadn't been paying customers. After a surreptitious glance at a clock back behind the stage, Till then scanned the club to see if he could justify going home a little earlier than normal. The tiredness was really seeping into his bones tonight.

Just before Till could decide he was finished, a man ambled his way over to Till's stage and sat down. Refraining from sighing, Till put on his best welcoming smile and began swaying back in time with the thudding music. He had given up on asking people what they'd like to see a few months ago, as they either had no idea or would already be telling him what they wanted upfront before he even asked. Till didn't need to mess up his voice trying to yell over the music every five minutes. He'd been meaning to bring this up to the owner as it seemed the music had simply gotten louder and louder over the past few months. It was another thing on his to-do list, which coincidentally always seemed to be growing.

The newcomer took his time sliding his jacket and scarf off and draping them over his chair, situating himself and apparently getting comfortable. Till became very curious. This man didn't appear to look like his regular clientele at all. He was certainly not one of the young, frail twinks that loved Till's aesthetic. Rather, he was a somewhat older, very average sized man-- well dressed in a nice but not overly expensive suit jacket and slacks. The man then loosened his tie, still not looking up, and Till swallowed involuntarily at the sight. He seemed quite attractive, at least from a darkened, side-profile view. 

The man then looked up at him, but not with the usual rampant lust Till saw in most men's eyes. This one watched him with something closer to… deference? Respect, even? More than that, the man looked overwhelmingly familiar. Where on earth had Till seen him before? He knew he wasn't a patron. Till would definitely have recognized him, as attractive as he was.

Till felt his steps falter before he could catch himself, forcing him to pause for a beat to get back in rhythm after getting distracted by his own musings. He felt his neck heat up in embarrassment; he was unfortunately very familiar with the feeling of getting off track and the quick pang of shame that followed it. Rowdy patrons, fights between dancers, Till had seen it all and been distracted by it all. Luckily, he had also become quite good at recovering from upsets. 

His move was simple:

He did a sharp turn away, grabbed his harness with both hands while he lowered his head, then sharply turned back again to face his customer and stomped with a foot back in time to the music. It was a well-practiced move that never failed to earn a smile and hid his brief shame at losing the beat.

It worked yet again, and Till felt quite satisfied at seeing the new customer's eyes darken lustfully when he turned back around. That brazen look didn't last very long though; the man inclined his head and he reached into his back pocket. Till grinned despite himself. While he knew that move was a hit, he'd never had a customer start paying after seeing it. It wasn't *that* impressive, he thought, but he clearly had something this man appreciated. 

As he waited for his patron to rifle through his wallet, Till assumed the stance all his regulars loved: feet wide apart, one hand holding his harness and the other at his waist, hip cocked to the side and heel tapping with the music. His confident smile faltered and turned into surprise as the man reached up to give him an extremely large bill. Till's hand slid from his harness to take the money, and his eyes flicked down to the other man's gaze questioningly in case this was a mistake or prank. He wouldn't put it past some of the other dancers to stoop that low. They joked on each other constantly, and Till had been on the receiving end of some good natured pranks once or twice.

But the man's intense blue eyes looked perfectly sincere and unbothered as they gazed right back up at him, some dark strands of hair occasionally wisping in front of them. He looked to be about Till's age, it seemed, with a clean-shaven face that wasn't as young as it once might have been. He probably colored his hair, if Till had to guess by the stark black shade of it, and he seemed to be wearing a shirt that was a size too small, at least for his chest. And his face was so familiar still...

Till noticed he was still holding the bill in his hand, not having moved since the man offered it to him. The patron chuckled at Till's lingering doubt, and gave him a reassuring nod as he pushed the money further into Till's grasp. His face became fully illuminated as the man briefly moved into the light.

Well, fuck, Till thought as a large smile spread across his face. The man was stunning. 

He stuffed the bill into his pocket, quite pleased that his night was ending on such a high note. Till glanced back at the barely visible clock behind the stage to see how much time he had to give this overly attractive and apparently quite wealthy man. His gaze swept back past the dancer's closed dressing room door in the hallway to his left, and Till blinked as an epiphany suddenly hit him full force.

He knew exactly where he'd seen the man before: there had been a worn, faded strip club advertisement in Till's dressing room locker ever since he first started work, on which was a very different image of the man sitting in front of him now. The flyer-version of him looked young, sassy, and downright beautiful. He had silver-colored, medium length hair, and stood in a pose Till was very familiar with-- thumbs jammed into the belt loops of low-rise jeans that left very few curves or bulges to the imagination; one hip cocked heavily to the side; head angled down, but eyes seductively gazing up at the viewer of the flyer.

Till turned back to his patron. There was no mistaking it. Though the photo was old, the eyes and the smile were exactly the same. 

This man was that same young stripper.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to [FLEISCHGEWEHR](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FLEISCHGEWEHR) and [Hiddeninthecellar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddeninthecellar) for their help brainstorming and editing.


End file.
